


The Dark Knight's Shadow

by RainaWrites



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-09
Packaged: 2018-10-01 07:23:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10183922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainaWrites/pseuds/RainaWrites
Summary: Bruce rescues Talia as a little girl from her oppressive life with the League of Shadows. She returns to Gotham with him and becomes his sidekick/surrogate daughter. Stay tuned to see some major tests of their partnership, a romance between Shadow and Officer Blake, her metamorphosis into a villain, Blake's rise as Nightwing, and redemption that will come at a cost. *This is still a work in progress. I will add new chapters regularly!





	1. Training Day

Bruce’s entire body ached from their long day of training. But the tranquility of the moment filled his lungs. The sun set in a blaze of crimson, setting alight the sparsely wooded slopes below the temple. The mountains bowed majestically to the ancient glacier. The Bhutan landscape was a humbling display of respect and power. 

 

Ducard approached, standing beside him in silent companionship.

 

Their gazes drifted to the lone figure of a small girl, a blemish on the barren rock face that sheltered their temple. She toiled over a wind-beaten corner of the relic’s foundation that had fallen into disrepair.

 

“The great love you spoke about,” Bruce inquired. “She was Talia’s mother?”

 

A somberness clouded Ducard’s face.

 

“Yes,” he answered finally. “Sometimes, I see her looking out of those eyes. But she is not there. Talia is but a ghost of her. It is a cruel reminder.” He looked away with a terse sigh.

 

Below, the child winced as a stiff burst of mountain air whipped her cowl away from her willowy frame. But her face remained reticent, and her fingers worked nimbly, efficiently. Bruce couldn’t help but admire her grit.

 

“Does she speak?” he asked, for even in the gilded light of sunset she seemed part of the silent, solemn shadows.

 

“Not since the day she learned of her mother’s death,” Ducard answered. “Her mind is a simple one. She can listen well enough; her obedience serves her well. But I doubt she will ever amount to much.”

 

Though Bruce was accustomed to Ducard’s unapologetic assertions, his frankness about the child uneased him. Bruce saw a familiar darkness in the girl’s eyes; it reminded him of the days following his parents’ deaths. But Bruce felt sure he could also sense a resilient strength, waiting to be pulled from the depths of that darkness. Ducard had drawn it out of Bruce; would he let it die within his own daughter?


	2. Mercy

That night, Bruce awoke to a strange patter traveling through the halls. Curious, he roused himself from his humble bed. He felt his way along the adorned walls of the temple, following the path of the phantom footsteps. It led him to the prisoner hold in the lower chambers. Here, the air was damp and cold. It bit cruelly at his bare feet and sent ghastly shivers down his back. But like the sound, he persisted.

 

A creaking arose in the darkness. Cautiously, he peered around a corner.

 

A prisoner was reaching through the slats of his primitive cage, hand outstretched towards an offering of bread. Bruce leaned forward, eyes intensely searching the darkness for the mysterious giver. As he did so, a board creaked beneath him, giving him away. The prisoner turned with a fearful jerk.

 

Exposed, Bruce shed his air of stealth. He entered the chamber purposefully. The captive man relinquished his meal in hopes of minimizing his culpability. Bruce watched as the bread tumbled to the ground silently. It landed in front of a pair of small, guilty feet.

 

Talia stood bravely but respectfully where she had been caught. Her head hung in disgrace. Though she did not see it, Bruce’s face was alight with a smile. There was vindication in that smile, for he knew now that she was not as simple-or as obedient-as Ducard believed after all. 

 

Dutifully, Talia turned and retrieved a leather whip from its hold on the wall. She placed it carefully before Bruce and then knelt in surrender. Her taciturn demeanor dissolved as she buried her face in her outstretched arms. Bruce thought he heard a stifled cry.

 

He bent down towards the whip, and she braced herself for the first lash. But as he rose again, the whip remained. The prisoner stared in disbelief as Bruce returned the lump of bread. He placed a gentle hand on Talia’s shoulder, reassuringly. She looked up, dumbfounded. As their eyes met, she recognized something in his eyes. It reminded her of her mother.

 

Wordlessly, Bruce left the chamber, leaving Talia shrouded in stunned silence. She did not know the word for mercy; but in that moment, her life took on a purpose. The seeds of devotion were planted in the deepest recesses of her heart, their roots taking hold in her very soul. Where he went, she would follow. And where he stayed, she would remain.


	3. The Battle

“I will go back to Gotham and I will fight men like this. But I will not become an executioner.”

 

“Bruce please! For your own sake; there is no turning back!” Ducard pleaded impatiently, offering again the hilt of the sword.

 

Bruce hesitated. His heart beat wildly despite his stoic exterior. He was at a crossroads. The last seven years of his life had culminated in this moment. Whatever came next would define his life.

 

He accepted the sword. Gripping it tightly, he touched the cold blade to the back of the prisoner’s neck. The terrified man turned up his face piteously. Talia rushed boldly to her father’s side. She stared at Bruce pleadingly, despairingly. Her brow sheened with beads of distress.

 

The next motion must be quick, he knew.

 

Swiftly, Bruce plucked a poker from a nearby fire pot with the tip of the sword. He flicked it overhead, where it landed in a stockpile of blackpowder.

 

“What are you doing?” Ducard roared.

 

“What is necessary, my friend,” Bruce said.

 

An explosion ripped through the temple. As the prisoner fled, Bruce turned to face the onslaught of warriors. He would have to call upon all the strength and skill in his power. The ancient structure creaked and groaned in the throes of death. Where flames licked the ceiling, the roof caved in, sending plumes of ash and embers into the air. Bruce used the haphazard destruction to his advantage. The fire became his ally. It pried loose the rafters, which fell on the heads of his enemies; it flushed out his opponents and consumed the corners where they might otherwise lie in wait. But like anger, the fire was only helpful for so long. With a final burst of power, the building was rent from the mountainside as if by the blow of a colossal hand.

 

Bruce found himself tumbling down the icy slope. He flailed out, desperately trying to slow his trajectory. Pulling a blade from his suit, he drove it into the ground with a mighty shout. It raked over the ragged earth until finally, at the last moment, it lodged. Bruce’s feet swung precariously over the edge of a precipice. A vast nothingness gaped its great mouth around him, waiting to swallow him whole. The wind howled like a hungry beast, prowling the valley below. 

 

His arm burned, his back ached. He held onto the hilt with all his waning might. He gasped, struggling for the breath to think clearly. Then something struck the earth beside his hand. He blinked, not trusting his own sight. For there lay the end of a rope, as if Lady Fortune herself had come to his rescue.

 

He grabbed the rope, winding it around his wrists. Then he felt himself being dragged up and over the edge of the cliff. Heave after slow heave, he came into sight of the blasted wreckage. Amidst the debris stood not Lady Fortune, but the prisoner and the girl.

 

Talia beamed down at Bruce. A smile danced across her lips, a beautiful foreigner on a face accustomed to melancholy. Tired as he was, Bruce smiled back. Never amount to much, indeed.

 

______________________________________________________________________________

 

“You look fashionable; apart from the mud,” Alfred quipped from the doorway of the plane. Bruce laughed warmly. It was good to hear his voice again.

 

Alfred’s face changed as he caught sight of the girl. She walked a pace behind Bruce, keeping within the protective boundary of his shadow. She paused nervously as the sleek machine’s turbines roared to life.

 

“Sir?” Alfred implored.

 

Bruce looked down at her with her a fond smile. It faded slightly under the weight of responsibility he now bore for the child. Because of him, her father and home lay in ruins on that cold mountainside. Like him, she was now an orphan. But there was another similarity; a kindred spirit of justice. Gotham would be the birthplace of redemption for both of them.


	4. Becoming Batman

The League of Shadows had delivered Talia from the awful fate of the Pit. But her new life was merely a different kind of prison. The men that her father trained were intimidating, indifferent, and only on the rare occasion cruel. Diligence afforded her their lenient neglect, and so she learned to keep her head down studiously. Words did not benefit someone in her position. But always, she listened.

 

Then her father took in a strange, new warrior. The mood of the temple shifted; an anticipation grew, blossoming silently like their rare blue flower. This was the man who would lead them into their next conquest. This was a man to be honored and feared.

 

It bewildered Talia the first time he thanked her. It was her duty to bring food around at supper time. “Kadrin chhe la,” he had said in the native tongue, with a slight bow of his head. She had stared back, perplexed, until her father scolded her.

 

She would secretly watch as her father trained him, drawn by curiosity and reverent awe. He was a swift learner, with frightening prowess and power. Inspired, Talia would practice when she was alone, the shadows masking her secret plight.

 

When Bruce spared her in the prison hold, she was transformed by his mercy. No longer was her life a useless one.

 

On the plane to Gotham, Talia listened carefully as he conversed with an older gentlemen he called Alfred. Admiration burned in her heart as he spoke of things like hope and justice. He laid out plans to become a protector of the city, a symbol for good. Bruce’s ambitious endeavors were rife with danger. But it did not scare her. Instead, she longed to be a part of those plans, emboldened like never before.

 

After their arrival in Gotham, they set to work immediately. Bruce led Talia and Alfred to a cave beneath the massive manor. As they traveled through the damp darkness, Talia could read a distant look in his eyes; this place held history for him.

 

Then the cave stretched out, dimly lit by a single shaft of sunlight that pierced through the rock ceiling. A waterfall roared down through the opening, flowing towards the outside world in murky swirls. Bruce leapt onto a boulder, turning up his palm to the furious cascade. “Come closer!” he shouted, goading the uncomfortable Alfred.

 

“No thanks sir, I can see just fine from here!”

 

Fearlessly, Talia leapt onto the boulder. She climbed upward with tenacity. Once at the top, she stood beside Bruce, chest puffed with pride. He smiled down at her delightedly. Her face beamed back, a laugh bubbling up from her lungs. 

 

It was there they decided to set up central command. Bruce nicknamed it the Bat Cave, after the local residents. They worked on it night and day, resurrecting a secret elevator from the mansion for quicker access. All the while, Bruce designed a bat-like suit that would mask his identity and accommodate an arsenal of gadgets and weaponry.

 

“Why bats, sir?” Alfred asked one day.

 

“Bats terrify me,” Bruce answered. “It’s time my enemies share my dread.” 

 

Talia sat on the floor nearby, assembling a tool belt. She recalled Bruce’s final test in Bhutan, and the way he fell to the floor, paralyzed with panic, when the bats flew from their box. But rising slowly, he overcame that terror until he stood stoic in the midst of their swirling, screeching frenzy. In that moment, Talia could barely tell where bat ended and man began.

 

"The Bat Man," she said.

 

Alfred and Bruce whirled, staring in astonishment at their hitherto silent companion.

"Yes," Bruce agreed with a devious smile. "Batman it is."


	5. Becoming Shadow

In their spare time, Bruce and Talia trained. She was an eager student; surprising both of them with her deftness. The foundation of their partnership took hold in those hours, constructed with as much labor and love as the Bat Cave.

 

Alfred took a kindly liking to the girl. She was an easy addition to Wayne Manor. But her favor was obvious; she rarely left Bruce’s side.

 

“She follows your every step,” he noted one day with a touch of amusement. “Sometimes, I mistake her for your shadow!”

 

The name stuck.

 

Shadow reveled in her new identity. And for a time, the passage of several years, Wayne Manor bustled with an excited anticipation. Change was in the air for Gotham.

 

Not all of that change was good, however. Crime syndicates had infiltrated law enforcement agencies, making it difficult for Bruce to know who to trust.

 

He remembered a police officer gently wrapping his jacket around him in the hours following the murder of his parents. “It’s okay,” the man urged. “It’s going to be okay.”

Bruce had never forgotten his kindness. It was time for repayment. It was also time for Gotham to meet Batman.


	6. The Encounter in the Alley

Something had gone terribly wrong. The minute the pager went off, Alfred and Shadow looked at each other worriedly. It was linked to a communication device Batman kept on his belt. It was only to be used in emergencies. “Alfred…” a voice rasped through the speaker. And then nothing.

 

They dashed away fast as they could, driving with borderline recklessness to the Narrows, where the GPS indicated his location. But before they could reach the bridge, it went out. “What does that mean?” Alfred asked. Technology was not his forte.

 

“Perhaps the rain destroyed it,” she offered, for as they drove, bullets of rain pelted the windows and darkened the sky forebodingly. She hoped it was something that innocent.

 

As they entered the Narrows, Alfred and Shadow felt daunted. “Let me out here. You search the alleys toward the west. Page me if you come across him. I’ll do the same.” With that, she leapt from the car, barely waiting for it to stop.

 

Desperately she searched, feeling very much out of place. She had yet to spend considerable time out of the protective walls of Wayne Manor or the Batcave. Foreign noises assaulted her ears; the rain blinded her. Shadow’s breath turned shallow as she struggled for bravery.

 

Then her heart stopped. There, at the base of an abandoned apartment building, lay Batman. She rushed to his side, deathly afraid of what she would learn. Her fingers fumbled as she paged for Alfred. The device beeped comfortingly; it would soon give him their location.

 

Shadow crouched beside him, the rain battering her mercilessly. She looked around wildly, hopelessly. Who had done this to Bruce? Were they still nearby? She didn't like how exposed they were in this alley.

 

She tried to rouse him. They had to get somewhere safer. He was muttering something under his breath. She bent down, turning an ear towards his mouth. But his ramblings were incoherent. Something about blood? Poison? His features were twisted with fear--it looked foreign on his face and filled her with trepidation.

 

Shadow squeezed Bruce’s hand, but she knew his mind was gone. His communication device lay nearby, still open and drowned by the torrents of rain. A whimper rose in her throat as his body began to relax. He was losing consciousness.

 

"Hang in there!" she cried desperately.

 

Then a noise rang out nearby--the clink of a glass bottle being kicked by an errant foot. She snapped to attention. Her chest tightened with dread as she poised herself above the helpless Batman, trembling but vigilant.

 

A figure formed, gun drawn. Shadow held her breath, quickly counting her options as she had been trained to do.

 

Then the mist cleared just enough for her to see his face: Officer Gordon, Batman’s ally.

 

Upon sight of the girl, he immediately lowered his gun. He could see she was terrified, but still she stood her ground. Gordon felt touched by this display of courageous loyalty in the dark of the Narrows.

 

"He needs help," he called out to her. Her posture eased, but only slightly.

 

Gordon holstered his gun and approached slowly, his hands raised in a show of good faith. She stepped back warily, allowing him to approach Batman's side. Like a wild animal, she watched his every move.

 

Gordon reached out a hand to check for Batman's pulse. Deftly, she clutched his arm. The strength of her grip surprised him. He looked up at her quizzically.

 

"His mask," she said sternly.

 

"It's alright," Gordon assured her, his voice exuding sincerity. His face conveyed kindness in every feature, every line. In that moment, Shadow understood why Bruce had chosen this man. Gordon would not violate his sacred trust, she decided.

 

She gave a capitulating nod. Gordon placed a finger on Batman's neck. His skin burned to the touch. Gordon pushed back his eyelids to uncover glazed, bloodshot eyes and dilated pupils. "Looks like he has been drugged. Do you know what happened to him?" he asked the girl. She shook her head ruefully.

 

"Are you alone?" The rain hammered so loudly around them, he was practically shouting to her, making it difficult to conceal the concern in his voice. 

 

"Help is on the way. I don’t know how much longer..." As she glanced about furtively, Gordon realized she was just a kid; barely even a teenager. Her reticent exterior lapsed momentarily and she became helpless, scared, and small. Apprehension filled her dark, wild eyes. Rain dripped from the messy braid over her shoulder. His paternal nature longed to console her.

 

"It's going to be alright," he said, reaching for her hand. She withdrew instinctively. He smiled, resigned. She was as aloof as the man she protected.

 

Headlights blazed through the darkness suddenly, illuminating the startled pair through the veil of rain. Gordon's hand went to his holster, but she shook her head at him reassuringly. The car pulled up beside them, gravel crunching beneath the wheels and engine chugging patiently. Gordon waited for someone to emerge, but instead, the girl got to work. She opened the back door and then wrapped her arms around Batman's massive torso best she could in an attempt to lift him.

 

Gordon balked, amused at her temerity. Wordlessly, he took her place, motioning for her to help at the other end instead. Gordon's curiosity flickered as he saw the outline of the driver. But the inside of the car was dark, the task difficult, and Gordon too honorable of a man.

 

Once the unconscious Batman was lain safely on the seat, the girl slid herself between Gordon and the door to further shield the driver's secrecy. It made Gordon smile. She was certainly a good ally to have: clever, capable, and courageous to boot.

 

"I don't know how to thank you," she said, looking up at him with an appreciative smile that overshadowed her consternation. She fought back a shudder as she imagined what would've happened if it had not been Gordon she met in the alley that night.

"You don't have to," he said, smiling fondly in return. As Shadow watched him disappear back into the rainy mist, she knew it would be an encounter she would never forget.


	7. The Return of Ra's al Ghul

“Stop smiling, it’s not a joke. The party is over...Just go,” Bruce stumbled in feigned drunkenness as he delivered the final line. Guests murmured incredulously, but they took the hint. People filed out of the room, casting disapproving scowls his way.

 

“The apple has fallen very far from the tree, Mr. Wayne,” one man chided. Bruce winced; the words hit their mark even though this was all a charade. 

 

As the party cleared, Shadow remained hidden safely in the darkness of a nearby hallway. She was relieved that these raucous strangers were leaving her sanctuary, but something did not feel right. Cautiously, she watched for signs of trouble.

 

A small group of men lagged behind. Once the room was sufficiently empty, they surrounded Bruce, circling him like vultures. One of them singled himself out, the back of his broad shoulders to Shadow. A lump formed in her throat as she recognized him: her father. Only now he used his real name, which she had not heard in many years: Ra’s al Ghul.

 

“Amusing, but pointless,” she heard her father say. “None of these people have long to live.”

 

“So you really are here to destroy millions of lives?”

 

“Only a cynical man would call what these people have “lives” Wayne.”

 

“Gotham isn’t beyond saving. Give me more time. There are good people here.” Bruce beseeched his former mentor and friend.

 

Pride swelled within Shadow to see Bruce stand his ground. But her father was no Falcone or Crane; he was meticulous, methodical, and relentless. It would not be easy to stop him. Bruce’s heroic pleas were falling on deaf ears.

 

The two continued their discourse as Shadow retreated quietly, searching for a weapon. She grabbed a knife from a cart by the kitchen and returned to the sound of furniture splitting and crashing. Her father’s henchmen had set about destroying the parlor, dowsing it all with gasoline and lighting it ablaze. 

 

"You burned my house and left me for dead. I'm simply returning the favor," Ra’s al Ghul said, and then nodded to his men. Shadow’s throat tightened.

 

She watched as Bruce took them on one-by-one, fighting with all of his might. Suddenly, something small and fierce came to his defense. Shadow leapt onto the back of the man currently leading the assault and drove a blade into the top of his chest. He yelled out in startled pain. The other men closed in. Bruce fought back urgently, trying to keep them at bay.

 

As the man pulled the knife from his chest, Shadow latched her arms around his neck, squeezing tightly. After his knees buckled, she leapt to the floor, quick as a flash, to go after another. She was remarkably well off. But like Bruce, she was outmatched. Soon she found herself pinned to the floor, a massive hand around her throat. She kicked out her legs in desperate futility. Her vision began to fade.

 

“SHADOW!” Bruce shouted at the sight of her defeat. He raged against the attackers, fueled on by her plight.

 

“Stop!” a voice commanded.

 

The man released his death grip from Shadow’s throat. She rolled over onto her knees, coughing and gagging as air flooded her burning lungs.

 

Ra’s approached the girl, kneeling before her. "Can it be?" he mused aloud. At the sound of his voice, Shadow looked up timorously. She felt a familiar flush of fear to be in his towering presence again.

 

"Talia? Alive? And a warrior!" He chuckled to himself. "You have found your courage. I admire that greatly." Her eyes narrowed skeptically. She had never heard him speak to her so softly, so kindly.

 

“You are defending the wrong man. I was doing this for you, my daughter. To avenge you. And your mother.” She searched his gaze. For a moment, she felt a tinge of childish hope flutter in her chest. 

 

Imploringly, she looked to Bruce. He hung between the grip of two henchmen, rueful eyes staring back at her. He could see how much she wanted to believe him. Inklings of self-doubt stirred in his heart. Was it right of him to bring her here after all? To place such grave stakes upon a mere child? He was not her father. Could he begrudge her for honoring her own flesh and blood?

 

But the sight of her beloved master, on the verge of defeat, filled her with a protective wrath. The loyalty that bonded her to him burned and raged within her veins. 

 

"No." she said resolutely.

 

Ra’s al Ghul glowered at her petulance. But a proud smile slowly crossed Bruce’s face. This moment belonged to her.

 

"You did this for yourself," she went on, her voice remarkably steady. "Your grief has warped your sense of justice.You are no better than the criminals you punish. It was never about me. Or mother. She would hate who you’ve become."

 

Her final words cut through Ra’s like a sword. His face reddened with anger. She stared dead into his eyes, unafraid now, though she knew what was coming.

 

Bruce knew it was coming, too. "NOOO!" he shouted as Ra’s al Ghul’s hand flew. It struck her with such a force that her body crumpled to a heap on the floor, motionless.

 

Bruce struggled with all his strength. A paternal rage rushed into his muscles. He threw off one of his captors with an almost unearthly might.

 

Meanwhile, the fire had been closing in around them. It dislodged a beam from above. His other captor jumped out of the way just in time. But Bruce was not so lucky. It landed across his chest, knocking him to the floor, unconscious.

 

Ra’s bowed mockingly. "Consider us even," he said, and left the two bodies lying in the path of the fire.

 

But he did not factor in Alfred. The man had helplessly but prudently remained hidden during the confrontation. With Ra’s al Ghul and his men safely out of sight, he rushed forth to aid his two wards.

 

Tenderly, he touched Shadow’s face. She murmured in pain. “It’s alright now, love,” he said, looking her over quickly and helping her to sit up.

 

Behind them, Bruce was rousing awake, the beam still pinned to his chest. He struggled groggily underneath its weight.

 

"What's the point of doing all those push-ups if you can't even lift a bloody log?" Alfred clucked. Bruce stared back in vexed disbelief. But the jibe worked. With an indignant groan of effort, Bruce lifted the beam and threw it clear.

 

The three hurried to the Bat Cave’s elevator as the mansion began to fall apart. Safely inside, Shadow slid to the floor, her senses still returning. Bruce crouched before her, placing his hands lovingly on either side of her face.

 

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said to her. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

 

Shadow’s eyes softened as she understood. “Then I will do it for my mother,” she said facetiously.

 

A burst of flames shot through the corridor above them. They looked up mournfully at the demolition of their cherished refuge. Bruce’s face fell in despair. “I wanted to save Gotham. I couldn’t even save my own home.”

 

Alfred looked upon the battered pair, their morale dwindling.

 

“Why do we fall?” he asked, his voice rich with encouragement. “So we can learn to pick ourselves up.”


	8. Enlisting Help

“We need reinforcements!” Gordon belted into the radio. “Swat team, anything!”

 

“All of the city’s riot police are on the island with you,” a voice answered, trembling with defeat. “There’s nobody left to send.”

 

“You mean we’re on our own?” Gordon slumped over, exasperated. A feeling of dread welled within him. Just then, a clamoring spilled into the streets. A tangle of screams and snarls froze the blood in Gordon’s veins. The mob turned against itself, as formerly sane citizens clawed at each other in feverish fear. Gordon slowly backed away, avoiding their detection.

 

But suddenly, his forehead hit the ground. A man had rushed him from behind, and now scratched frantically at his face, shouting unintelligibly. Gordon raised his arms to block his face. Then, when he saw an opening, he bucked and rolled, throwing the aggressor off of him. Only now the horde of violence was upon them. Both he and his attacker were swept up in the madness, and he found himself drowning in the deadly chaos. 

 

Just then, a roar ripped through the street. The mob momentarily froze in the blinding spotlight of a formidably armored vehicle. The Batmobile had arrived.

 

Gordon heard the hiss of hydraulics as the door swung up vertically. The ardor returned, and the throng of people collectively rushed at this new foe, bombarding the driver within. For a moment Gordon worried; but soon he was laughing at himself chidingly. For a black shape had risen above the fervor, spinning in an awesome display of power and momentum, kicking here, striking there. Every last attacker was left lying on the ground, groaning in agony.

 

“Nice to see you again,” Gordon called, full of relief.

 

Shadow smiled. “Are you alright?” Her eyes drifted to the fresh gash on Gordon’s forehead.

 

“I’ve had worse,” he scoffed, feigning insult. “And you?” Her own face was marred by a considerable bruise, though he did not see anyone manage a punch during the fray.

 

“I just might make it,” she bantered.

 

More screams arose from the streets behind them. Their smiles sobered.

 

“The Narrows is tearing itself to pieces,” he said to her with uncharacteristic despair.

 

“This is only the beginning,” she said gravely. “If they spread the toxin throughout the whole city, Gotham will destroy itself.”

 

“How are they going to do that? The Narrows has been isolated, cut off.”

 

“The train,” she said. “It follows the water mains to the central hub, beneath Wayne Tower. If they get their machine into Wayne Station, it will cause a chain reaction that will vaporize the entire city’s water supply-,”

 

“-covering Gotham in this poison,” Gordon finished. They looked at each other, the gravity of Gotham’s delicate fate balancing on their shoulders.

 

“Batman is on his way to the train now,” she said, glancing about warily as more raucous voices pierced through the air.

 

“What can I do?” Gordon asked earnestly.

 

“Well,” she said. “Can you drive stick?”


	9. Off the Rails

As Shadow left Gordon with the Batmobile and crucial instructions, she felt a troublesome pang of guilt. She had passed along the role Batman gave strictly to her. But she knew she could not let him face her father alone.

 

The train had already begun its journey. It was still picking up speed with metallic groans of effort. Shadow’s heart skipped a beat as she caught a glimpse of the ferocious battle raging within.

 

Student and master clashed in a fight to the death, as if the mighty mountains had decided to wage war on the ancient glacier.

 

If she waited much longer, trying to board the barrelling train would be suicide. Adrenaline rushed through her veins as she shot a grappling gun at the side of the mechanical beast, holding on as tightly as she could. She was swung aloft, and for a moment she thought her arms would be wrenched from their sockets. Gasping for breath, she began reeling herself in until she could use her pendulum-like momentum to throw herself into a window. The glass shattered around her. She had buried her face protectively in her arms while Kevlar protected the rest of her body. Taking only a moment to collect herself, Shadow raced down the aisles as fast as her feet could fly. 

 

Likewise, the train hurtled forward, reaching breakneck speeds. Steel buildings flew by the windows. Steam exploded from the water mains below the tracks. A reckless chaos consumed the Narrows.

 

Shadow halted in dread as she reached the final car. Wayne Tower loomed before them. They were nearly out of time, but Batman was still locked in battle. There was only one option left. And no time for fear.

 

She crossed the threshold and into the war. Both titans looked up from their deathmatch in shock. “What makes you think you can save him this time?” her father taunted.

 

“Stay back, Shadow!” Batman warned angrily.

 

Ra’s al Ghul broke away from Batman and strode towards her menacingly. Shadow rushed towards him, too. At the last minute, she dove past him, sliding into the controls. She plunged a knife into the circuit boards, driving it deeper with all her strength.

 

Then she was struck from behind and sent tumbling into the wall. Shadow slumped to the floor in a daze.

 

Batman avenged the punitive strike. He barrelled into his opponent furiously, and the battle resumed.

 

Shadow watched helplessly as Ra’s al Ghul gained the upper hand. “You are just an ordinary man in a cape. That’s why you couldn’t fight injustice, and that’s why you can’t stop this train!” he rasped into Bruce’s ear wickedly, triumphantly.

 

“Who said anything about stopping it?” Shadow’s voice rose bravely from the sidelines.

 

His eyes flew to the controls, which she had thoroughly destroyed. Then an explosion ripped through the tracks ahead of them. Metal beams tumbled downward with earth-shattering clangs. Gordon had fulfilled his duty.

 

Preying upon his enemy’s surprise, Batman threw him to the ground, a lethal strike poised at his face. 

 

“Have you finally learned to do what is necessary?” Ra’s al Ghul said cooly. Shadow’s breath caught in her throat. She stared at Bruce with a pleading despair that flashed his mind back to his test in the temple. But Ra’s al Ghul did not make him a murderer then, and he would not make him a murderer now.

 

“I won’t kill you,” Batman responded. “But I don’t have to save you.”

 

With that, he threw a grenade behind him, blowing out the back of their car and separating it from the rest of the train. Shadow rushed forward into his arms, and he launched them both into the safe embrace of the black of night.

The train car pitched forward, over the edge. It landed in a spectacular blaze of destruction. The rest of Gotham was safe. Ra’s al Ghul’s war was finally over.


	10. Rebuilding

It took years to reclaim the Narrows in the aftermath of Ra’s al Ghul. But Gotham rebuilt itself under the protective wing of its new guardian.

 

Batman’s reputation swelled. Critics said he was just a man; but they could not deny there was something unearthly about his capabilities. Sometimes, it seemed as though the shadows themselves aided the dark knight. It struck fear deep in the hearts of criminals, and kept the city safe for some time.

 

Still, Bruce felt a growing sense of foreboding. Shadow’s disobedience in the final hours could easily have cost them their victory. Her blind devotion to his plight concerned him more and more. He had taken up the mantle of Batman alone; he never intended for a child to lay her life so willingly on the line.

 

Shadow’s participation in those troubling times had failed to deter her; instead, she seemed heartened. She developed an appetite for the risks and rewards that lay outside of Wayne Manor.

 

Bruce was reluctant to put her in danger of any kind, but like him, she would not accept a languid life. So he kept her busy with intel missions: planting bugs, performing research, and providing the right distractions at the right times. Fox enlisted her help whenever new gadgets came in. Shadow’s technological expertise proved invaluable to Bruce. They’d often sit together during the day while she worked on the tumbler or repaired his suit and discuss his latest exploits. 

 

As the years passed, Shadow’s skills honed. Her instincts sharpened. Bruce was surprised at how quickly she was becoming a force to reckon with.

 

During their training, it was easy to underestimate her. And so occasionally, she managed to get the better of him. After one particularly punishing strike, Bruce recoiled, laughing in surprise.

 

“It’s a good thing you’re on my side,” he said, rubbing his jaw to soothe the pain. She laughed with him, her face glowing in the wake of his praise. He looked upon her affectionately. She had grown up so suddenly. Gone was the forlorn child of the mountains; in her place stood a stalwart woman forged like a diamond under the crushing weight of her tribulations.

 

“Well on that note, it’s time for me to get ready for work.” Bruce removed his gear, and Shadow begrudgingly did the same.

 

“Will you be going to the library again today?” he asked. She nodded.

 

“Good,” he said proudly. Shadow’s faithfulness to her studies of late was an encouraging sign. Secretly, he hoped that college would suit her better than it did him. That way, she could have a future of her own.

 

But as Bruce left ahead of her, Shadow’s face clouded with guilt. She had not set foot in Gotham’s great library for months now.


	11. A Clandestine Meeting

Squealing of tires pierced the air as a dark SUV pulled into an abandoned parking garage. Like a snake it wound its way up the concrete ramps to the top level, where a van waited with sinister patience beneath a canvas of steely clouds. An impending storm darkened the afternoon sky and stifled the air with a foreboding calm. 

 

Armed guards flanked the van. They remained indifferent as a blubbering man was pushed from the SUV. He flailed on the ground, his frantic iterations falling on unsympathetic ears. Froth flew from the corners of his mouth, which was twisted into a horrendous, crazed smile.

 

“Forget to mention something about those drugs?” his angry dealer shouted, emerging with a handful of cronies. They walked in a menacing line towards the other party.

 

“Yeah. No refunds,” his supplier said smugly, still within the van. He stroked his coarse, sandy-colored beard in lackadaisical fashion. A chorus of metallic clicks answered him. Undaunted, the van’s guards drew up their own guns. The tension was as palpable as the imminent storm.

 

Suddenly, an explosion ripped through the SUV. Its former occupants pitched forward, thrown to the ground from the force. The men left standing aimed their weapons at the wreckage, waiting tensely for a culprit to emerge.

 

But instead, one of them was yanked off his feet and dragged behind the van. He disappeared from view with a muffled scream. His coworkers whirled. “Crohn?” one of them called nervously. He was met with an ominous silence. Skittishly, they approached the back of the van, gripping their guns with sweaty palms. A fury of fists and feet materialized, overcoming the armed criminals with frightful speed and accuracy.

 

“Go, go!” the supplier shouted to his driver. Tires screeched as they peeled away. With reckless speed they spiraled down the ramps. But unbeknownst to them, a shadow appeared on the ledge of the level they had just fled. It bided its time with a predator’s patience.

 

Just when they had begun to breathe again in anticipatory relief, the roof of the van caved in. It reeled forward blindly, crashing into a wall and knocking the driver out cold. The supplier, now the last man standing, scrambled from the wreckage. He ran for an exit, but didn’t make it very far before a black avalanche landed on his back.

 

“There’s something I need to know,” a menacing voice whispered. “And you’re going to tell me.”

 

Gordon arrived to the forsaken parking structure with several of his men in league. Battered and bound criminals waited for them in a line against the wall.

 

“Well go ahead, take them in,” he ordered his officers.

 

“If only Batman could do the paperwork as well,” a young policeman said with a lopsided smile. He helped a perp to his feet. Blood stained the man’s sandy-colored beard.

 

“It wasn’t Batman,” he said glumly, causing his captor to pause.

 

The officer looked at Gordon, puzzled. But Gordon didn’t look perplexed. There was a distant, fond look in his eyes.

 

“Sir?”

 

Gordon looked back at the officer. “That paperwork is waiting, Blake.”


	12. Limits

*A few months earlier*

“Another rough night, sir?” Alfred asked as he and Shadow walked into the sparsely decorated bedchamber. The blankets on the massive bed remained undisturbed. Morning light floated in through the window where Bruce sat laboring over a gash on his arm.

“Why do you insist on doing this yourself? You always make a mess,” Shadow clicked her tongue, rushing over to finish the stitches herself. He laughed wryly, but glanced at her with an appreciative fondness. 

Alfred set the breakfast tray nearby. “Did you get mauled by a tiger?” he said, wincing upon sight of the ugly wound. 

“It was a dog,” Bruce murmured.

“What’s that?”

“A big dog.”

It was Shadow’s turn to laugh now. Their banter was a familiar, endearing part of life in Wayne Manor. Nimbly, she finished winding the sutures through. Bruce nodded his gratitude and then rose to finish getting dressed. As he rifled through the wardrobe, a dusty shaft of sunlight fell across his back, illuminating a patchwork of old and new bruises. Shadow’s eyes softened with concern.

Alfred noticed as well. “You’re not still going to work, are you?” he asked as Bruce pulled on a crisp, white button-up.

“Of course I am, Alfred. It’s Thursday.” He flashed him a cheeky smile.

“Know your limits, Master Wayne,” an unamused Alfred warned.

“Batman has no limits.” Bruce answered, seriously this time. Shadow paused in her clean up of the blood. 

“But you do, sir,” his caretaker urged. 

“I can’t afford to know them,” Bruce went on, unaware of the disheartened look on the young woman’s face. 

“And what happens on the day that you find out?” 

“Well, we all know how much you love to say I told you so.” After a final glance in the mirror, Bruce turned to leave. The breakfast tray remained untouched.

“On that day even I won’t want to, Master Wayne” Alfred called after him with a rueful sigh. He turned to see the crestfallen Shadow. “Probably,” he added, clapping an affectionate hand on her shoulder. 

Bruce’s footsteps echoed through the massive hall, fading away from Shadow’s ears. Her heart sank, heavy with worry. Batman was an immortal symbol, but Bruce Wayne was just a man. For years now, she had watched as he sacrificed his time, his mind, and his body. The mantle of Batman was a promise of hope for Gotham, but a promise of death for its creator. 

Shadow felt restless. This was not a threat she could fight against. This was not a cliff she could pull him above. Though she had insisted on a stronger role many times, he would always placate her with safer, more subtle work instead. For a time, she understood. If he had become like a father to her, then she had become his daughter. His protectiveness was only natural. 

But Shadow’s loyalty had always superseded her obedience. She was no longer content to sit idly by and watch his slow suicide.

And so, with Bruce and Alfred on their way to Wayne Industries, Shadow took things into her own hands. She hurried to the Bat Cave’s supercomputer in search of a trail. Her probing yielded a name: Salvatore Maroni. Shadow’s heartbeat quickened. Batman was after the mob.


	13. Shadow's Research

For the next few months, Shadow conducted covert investigations during the day. She did it under the guise of library trips, realizing quickly that her benefactors did not question studious intents. And so while Batman and Gordon focused on money laundering trails, she tracked drug deals. Mobs and drugs have always been connected, after all. She didn’t need a mask; she relied on her preternatural ability to hide in plain sight. People could walk right past her and not remember her face. 

It wasn’t long until she discovered something strange: a handful of deaths that were unusual in nature but too sporadic to garner much attention. Victims died after taking a mystery drug dubbed Laughing Gas. A fit of hysteria preceded death, a lingering smile of delirium the final symptom. But as she made her way up the chain of command, she felt a nagging suspicion that the mob was not responsible for the Laughing Gas. After all, it was not profitable to kill off paying customers. 

The time had come when Shadow needed to be a little bit more direct. She’d assembled and repaired Bruce’s suit many times over the years, so it was not difficult to make something for herself. It was not as symbolic as his, but just as frightful. 

As she waited in the abandoned parking garage, she felt a rush of exhilaration. Her mask represented a strange dichotomy; for although it was meant to conceal her identity, it was what would allow her to truly be seen.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“There’s something I need to know,” Shadow whispered into the man’s ear, reveling in her success. “And you’re going to tell me.”

“Like hell!” Frightened as he was, he put up an amusing charade of impudence. She wrenched his arm towards his shoulder. He howled in pain as she kept on, biding her time cruelly. 

“Ok, ok,” he panted. “I’m all ears.” She loosened her grip, but kept a punishing knee between his shoulder blades. 

“You get your drugs from Maroni’s men. But where did you get the Laughing Gas?”

The man spit mud from his mouth. “Same, I swear!”

She dug her knee in deeper, despite his protests.

“No really, they come into the shipyards, after hours. Same time but different crates. I-I-” he ground his teeth and groaned. “I ain’t lying!” 

“What do they do with it?” she growled.

He howled in pain again. “They set it aside, I don’t know anything else, I promise! I thought they were trying to keep the best stuff for themselves. If they find out I took it-”

“Do I look like I work for them?” she snapped.

The man shook his head vigorously and whimpered, waiting for her next punishment. But none came. He rolled over slowly. 

“Ha!” he shouted, marveling at his luck. His antagonizer had vanished into thin air. He tried to stand, but was chagrined to realize his hands and feet had been bound together. In the distance, sirens cut through the storm-stifled air.


End file.
